The Rogue Potter
by Cheeky One
Summary: HP X-men (movie) crossover. No slash. After he's released from Azkaban, Harry leaves the wizarding world because few who believed his innocence were left alive by the second war. Harry has a special way of attracting trouble, so even when hiding as an average teenager in New Salem, New York, he gets dragged into saving the world.


**Standard Disclaimer:** Oi! I don't own Harry Potter (Jo Rowling does) nor do i own any of the X-men characters (Marvel does).

**Author's Note:** I love Rogue. I love Harry. I'm putting them together. They will deal with problems in both worlds. It won't be shippy. Considering thier personalities, it couldn't be. Rogue will be like she was in the movies, afraid of her powers and of harming others. She won't just throw herself at Harry as soon as they meet. I plan on slowly developing it over 11 or 12 chapters.

Special thanks to my amazing beta ammcj062

**Prologue part 1:** Apathy

* * *

Some say that forgiveness is the only path to serenity. That to be calm, one must forgive the wrongs done to them. These people give second chances to even the worst sort, to achieve an eventual peace in society. This peace is called the greater good. In the name of the greater good, they forgive demons and condemn innocents to hell. Such was the fate of Harry James Potter.

* * *

Azkaban was truly living up to its reputation as Hell on earth. Sure, the living conditions were better than Harry's cupboard. He had a twelve by twelve by twelve foot cell with an actual bed and three meals a day. He was being fed better than at the Dursleys as well. If not for the demons that roamed the halls, freezing temperature, horrible memories, and lack of anything to do, Harry might even have enjoyed himself.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Every time that the Dementors came near, Harry would hold on to his good memories in the hope of actually retaining them. How else was he to stay sane? It never worked. He got better at it though.

Today, his one hundred and forty seventh day in prison, was special. It was Christmas and Neville had visited.

Harry had been led through the prison into a well lit room divided in half by a pane of glass, no doubt filled with defensive runes. Unlike his prison cell, this room was pristine. There was no furniture except for a rather uncomfortable chair and a table to rest his arms on. The black tiles blended together into a sock-like floor and the walls were painted in a rather dreary purple. They couldn't let prisoners see something bright. Harry scoffed to himself. It would defeat the purpose of a dreary prison.

They'd had a nice conversation. Apparently, Dumbledore was hailing Neville as the new savior. "Your replacement, Harry," he'd joked.

When the Dementors came near, Harry had been able to defend himself from them. He had held onto his happy memories.

Later the same night, Voldemort sent him a vision.

Sirius was surrounded by Death Eaters in a circular room with an arc in the center of it. 'The Veil of Death,' whispered a voice at the back of Harry's mind. The first Death Eater, Lucius Mafoy, yelled 'Crucio!' Immediately Sirius had fallen in pain and begun screaming. He was under the curse for two minutes before Voldemort called for Lucius to stop.

'Forsake Harry Potter and I shall give you a quick death,' Voldemort said, his voice more like a hiss than human speech.

'Never!' Sirius replied with a defiant look on his face.

'Very well. Boys, have your way with him.'

For the next half hour, the Death Eaters took turns casting the Cruciatus on Sirius until he was a vegetable. Then, Narcissa Malfoy transfigured him into a pebble. 'Thanks for the fun, cousin dearest.' she laughed before she threw him through the veil.

'Merry Christmas, Potter,' Voldemort said.

Then Harry fell unconscious.

* * *

For the next five days, Voldemort left Harry alone. Harry had only broken down crying three times - per day. He spent the rest of his time practicing defending himself against Dementors.

Harry believed he had a breakthrough on repelling Dementors. He called it 'asserting one's mental force.'

When there was only one Dementor he was able to do it just fine. When a group ganged up on him, he had a lot more trouble. But Harry practiced, and by December 30th he was able to keep two Dementors away for three minutes.

Harry mused that he might be able to keep Voldemort away the same way. Voldemort had a much larger attention span, though, so he would need to get much better. But practice could wait until tomorrow. It was New Years Eve and Moony was supposed to visit today.

Harry didn't know what time it was, but he did know it was after his third meal of the day. If he had a window, keeping track of time would be so much easier. As it was, Harry's method of keeping track of time now consisted of a rock and three lines. If the rock was on the first line, then it was after first meal. The same with the second and third lines. It was a simple method, but effective nonetheless.

At midnight, Harry received his second vision from Voldemort.

Remus was held in a cage with silver-coated bars. Pettigrew stood outside the cage, a velvet sack in his metallic hand. There was no speaking or taunting. Just a lot of screaming. Pettigrew was throwing finely ground silver powder at the ex-defense teacher, drawing handfuls of it from his velvet sack. Next to Remus was a silver figurine of Sirius. Voldemort had placed it there, knowing if Remus used it then the part of his body which he touched it would be destroyed.

Given a choice between losing his life and his arm, Remus would obviously choose his arm. He grabbed the portkey, except instead of taking him to safety it took him into a vat of silver in the same room.

'This is my new year's resolution.' Voldemort told Harry before closing the connection.

* * *

Voldemort kept his resolution. For the next two months, fifty nine of the sixty two beings who Harry knew believed in his innocence were killed in gruesome ways.

Dobby had been tortured to death by Lucius Malfoy. His remains were ground into a fine powder and put into treacle tart for Hogwarts' halloween feast.

Colin Creevey had been blinded by a magically overpowered camera flash. Then his eyes had been gouged out by Bellatrix Lestrange. Finally, his blood was sucked out by a vampire and his dessicated body transfigured into a photograph shredder.

Dean had been crucified, decapitated, and transfigured into art supplies for Voldemort's amusement. His screams still echoed in Harry's mind.

George had watched as Fred was killed by burns from fireworks from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. Then he was forced to undergo every available WWW prank in rapid secession. He died through a combination of a long tongue, vomit, fever, a bleeding nose, and being a canary.

Nymphadora, a metamorph auror he'd met before his trial, had been forced to transform into a variety of beautiful women, raped by seven men, and tortured to insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange, her aunt.

Many muggleborns had proclaimed that Harry was innocent. They were muggleborns though, and had no political power in a prejudiced system. It was only those who were particularly outspoken that had been tortured for days. The Potter treatment, Lucius had called it. First they were crucioed for two hours, then they were killed, and lastly they were transformed into puddles of mud. Mudbloods. Honestly.

The Potter treatment was cruel, horrible, and excessive. For Death Eaters who raped dead women, torture while alive and defilement while dead was normal.

Through it all Harry had grown callous. He became used to seeing someone tortured to death every day. He didn't cry any more. He didn't fall unconscious after a vision. He simply went about his day, throwing himself into fortifying his mind. He worked on it sixteen hours a day. The other eight were variously for meals, sleep, and hygiene on his bathing days.

* * *

Today was some day or another. He'd lost track. This day was important, though, because of an achievement that he'd reached not an hour ago. By concentrating rather deeply on his good memories, he'd been able to visualize them as plants in his mind. He could actually feel the stem of the daisy which represented the first time Harry had met Sirius and smell the yellow flower's fragrance. When he'd taken a bite of the flower, just to see if the taste had transferred into the daisy, Harry had been pulled into the memory.

For the last hour, Harry had been sorting his good memories into a circular patch of flowers, trees, vines, and other plants. He was making a garden, a recess from the shithole that was his life. He also had to sort the negative memories, but those went outside his garden. He built a dam out of average memories, such as a regular class at Hogwarts, and imagined all of his negative memories as puddles of water that he put behind the dam.

All of them except his memories of his trial and imprisonment. Harry could sense that his dam wouldn't be able to hold them. There was too much anger boiling behind them, so instead he'd had to give them a solid form. They were too potent. If they had been given a liquid form, they would flood his mind. He transformed them into two separate apples, one with his memories and the other with his emotions, and placed them on a tree in the middle of the garden.

This was Harry's Garden of Eden.

* * *

By the end of the day, he'd built a rudimentary landscape. There was still work to do on details like the sun or a gazebo he planned to make as a place to relax, but he was well on the way to doing so.

The next day, while Harry was walking along a path he'd made between the lilies and the violets that respectively represented memories of his mother and father, he felt a disturbance in the garden. Harry bolted off to where he felt the disturbance to discover Voldemort was standing in the middle of his garden.

Harry's first thought had been to run, but then he'd realized he had the advantage. Harry could control his own memories, whereas Voldemort couldn't control Harry's memories and had left his own in his mind. Harry concentrated on one of the memories from his dam and solidified it into a knife.

Then, he ran at Voldemort and plunged the dagger into his heart. Sadly, that had only been a mental probe, but it had felt great anyways. The mental probe disappeared. Voldemort sent a few more probes, but Harry drove each of them away as well.

That day – his two hundred and ninety third in Azkaban he'd later learn – was the first time Harry had been able to keep Voldemort out of his own mind. That night, for the first time in a while, Harry had gone to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Yesterday, Harry had recieved a letter from Neville. Today was Harry's three hundred and sixty fifth day in Azkaban: July thirty first.

Harry lay in his ornate mahogany gazebo on a plush sofa sniffing a leaf of the wolfsbane plant. Remus had been a good uncle for the short time Harry had known him. Suddenly, he was pulled out of his mindscape. For some reason, he was face to face with a Dementor.

Some asked what their faces looked like. Honestly, Harry couldn't see what the fuss was. They look like perfectly normal people. This one was a cute blonde with green irises, not as vivid as Harry's own but rather close. If she weren't a Dementor, Harry might not mind dating her. She had a rather childish face and her hair seemed to transfix him for some reason, but otherwise, she looked like any other sixteen year old. Her aristocratic cheekbones and creamy skin were cute. 'A shame she's a Dementor.' Harry thought.

Then he remembered Dementors only lower their hoods to give someone a kiss. 'Not that I'd mind' the perverted voice in Harry's mind snickered.

She looked at Harry and gave an apologetic look. Perhaps Dementors didn't want to be soul sucking demons.

They still were.

Where her hand touched his cheek, Harry felt his magic and... something else.. leave him. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. It was oddly warm. Comforting, even. As if it were a reward for all the pain and coldness he'd suffered at a dementor's hands.

'This was my greatest fear?' Harry thought, 'Wow, I'm a wimp.'

As she pulled away from Harry, he realized that a piece of soul had come out of him. Not from his mouth, but from his scar. The dementor looked at him for a second, realizing he had survived her kiss, and shrugged. It wasn't her problem. Her leader had ordered the kiss, so she had given it. She pulled up her hood and floated away, a slight blush on her face as there always was after she administered the kiss.

Some boys could say that their first kiss was with a soul sucking demon, but only Harry Potter could mean it.

* * *

"Nev, was I supposed to get kissed today?" Harry asked, his hands still on his lips in wonder two hours later.

"Why would you be kissed? Wait, you don't mean by Dementors do you?" Neville asked, first in confusion then in a twisted mix of anger at the Dementors and... jealousy?

"Yes, yes, the all mighty Boy-Who-Can't-Die can add kissing a Dementor to his resume," Harry joked, smirking in amusement. One would think that after a year in Azkaban he'd be insane, but with his garden to hide in he was as healthy as ever. Mentally at least. Physically, he was a wreck.

In fact, Neville had asked Harry how he was conscious in every letter he'd sent so far, thirty-five so far. Harry's response had always been Gred and Forge's motto: "Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies."

"Well, I guess we can throw all the rules out the window out with you, right?" Neville asked with a grin. The expression was blurry to Harry, for his glasses had been confiscated before the meeting so they couldn't be bewitched. He couldn't see the finer details of Neville's face, but overall Neville seemed more fit. As if he were preparing for a war.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry responded jovially. "Now tell me the news." Other than the warden he hadn't had human company since Neville visited on Christmas. He wasn't going to waste his chance moping about his misfortunes in Azkaban.

"Well, on July thirty first, the Dementors abandoned Azkaban and –"

Neville was cut off by a whoop of, "YES! They're gone! Sure that one was pretty hot, but still, the demons are gone!" The joy emanating was almost tangible. Harry had a huge grin on his face and was pumping his fists up in joy. Sure, his ribs were almost poking out of his skin, he was incredibly pale from lack of sunlight, and it was difficult to move, but the Dementors were gone!

"As I was saying," Neville said, amusement plain on his face though a darker tone of anger was present as well. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "There's a prophecy."

"Oh, really," Harry scoffed. "Well, regale me with your tales of days of futures past seer Longbottom."

"I can't tell you. Voldemort might be able to use Legilimency to read your mind," Neville explained, sad that he couldn't share his secret.

"That old fart. I've been able to keep him out of my mind for months," Harry said in a tone remarkably similar to that of Luna Lovegood.

Neville straightened his posture indignantly. "You can keep him out? How, you don't even know Occlumency!"

"Is Occlumency a way to keep people from reading one's mind?" Harry asked, curious about this branch of magic Neville had just mentioned.

"Yes," Neville replied tersely.

"I learned it to keep the Dementors away from his memories." Harry remarked lazily.

"Would you mind if I tested your mental defenses then?" Neville was doubtful that Harry could have learned Occlumency by simple trial and error. He had been learning it since he was twelve for his duties as Lord Longbottom. After four years of nightly meditation, Neville still couldn't keep Voldemort out.

"Go ahead.. The Dark Windbag tries often enough anyway," Harry joked.

Neville raised his wand towards Harry. "Legilimens!"

Apparently, the prison had never been concerned with the visitor cursing the prisoner. The spell went through the glass. As soon as it hit Harry, a probe in the shape of Neville's body entered Harry's mindscape. Harry batted it away with ease.

"That's incredible. I've been practicing Occlumency since I was twelve and I'm nowhere near that level. You're on par with Voldemort and Dumbledore!" Neville praised.

"A year of practice sixteen hours a day does that. Could you get me a book on that Legilimency stuff?" Then Harry refocused on the issue at hand, speaking in his best imitation of a sneering Severus Snape. "Now get on with the prophecy." If Harry had gotten over his boggart today, Neville should too!

"Very well," Neville said with a grim countenance. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..." (taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix).

"So that means..." Harry began. His flesh was even paler than it had been before, which was saying something seeing as he hadn't seen the sun in a year.

Neville nodded. "It's you or me, Harry. You or me."

* * *

Neville did get Harry a book on Legilimency. The book was called The Mind Arts by Charlus Black, Harry's great-great-great-great grandfather. A nice sentiment. If only the Blacks weren't purist jerks. Harry cracked open the tome and began to read.

_Legilimency is the subtle art of forcing one's own mind probes into another's mind. The incantation for a mind probe is Legilimens..._

The wizarding world truly is strange. The Ministry feeds them lie after lie and they still believe it. Magic must be possible without a wand. If it were not, the first mages could not have accomplished it. The same is true in the case of Legilimency and eye contact. It was possible without any eye-to-eye contact but the Ministry spread the lie that it was not. Magic is all about emotion and conviction, after all. If one is convinced one could not do something, one's magic will not do it.

The book Harry read on the other hand, because he had Black blood running through his veins, allowed him to read a secret section about Legilimency. A method of Legilimency long lost to the magical world which allowed the Legilimens to invade the mind of anyone with whom they had a magical link or that was within a specific radius.

Harry's first target with Legilimency was a kissed prisoner whose cell was directly beside his. Harry asserted his mental force, as he'd taken to calling it, within the prisoner's mind and found he could get in easily. However, the mind was muddled and random.

Thoughts were running around everywhere. The first thing Harry heard when he got into the mind was, "Filthy mudbloods."

Harry sighed internally. This was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought.

* * *

Six months later, Harry had begun to truly understand how the mind worked. If Harry inserted one though into the prisoner's mind, the prisoner's brain would take that thought and put into what Harry thought of as a stream.

To find what he wanted, Harry would have to insert the correct thought into the prisoner's mind and follow it. If he used a thought that did not link with the target information, he would just waste time. Of course, all the thoughts on one stream were connected.

With that understanding Harry could break into the minds of soulless bodies.

Mastering the art of navigating the minds of the kissed made it much easier for Harry to navigate his own mind. Harry began routinely checking his mind, a good habit to avoid compulsions and love potions.

The first time that he did such a check, he realized that his link with Voldemort, while not gone had become narrower. It almost seemed like Harry's magic could go through it but Voldemort's couldn't. "Perhaps it has something to do with the piece of soul that was in my scar," he muttered. But if that piece of soul was gone, what would keep the connection open, even if only one way?

Think as he might, Harry couldn't understand why his side of the connection was still open.

* * *

A year and six months into his stay at Azkaban, Harry began to use Legilimency on prisoners with souls. He had already increased the radius from which he could attack people to two hundred feet while practicing on soulless captives.

On his first attempt to attack an unkissed inmate, the man had begun screaming and convulsing in pain. After reading through the book Neville had sent him, Harry realized his mental probes weren't stealthy enough. Until now, he had been forcing a huge probe into the target's mind and trying to pull out large amounts of information. This caused a lot of pain and ultimately inhibited Harry's access to information because the stream became flooded with thoughts about the pain. Harry began training his mind to focus more on individual strands of information.

Harry also decided to treat Legilimency like Occlumency. To create his garden, he'd focused as hard as he could on that memory. Now, Harry would focus as hard as he could on the probes. The results were near instant. He was far from a master in Legilimecy, for a master could send out twenty to thirty probes at once, but Harry had picked it up quite nicely in the short time he had practiced it.

The next few years passed rather boringly. Sure, Albus Dumbledore died, the lemon drop factory went out of business, and a war was going on, but from his shelter in Azkaban Harry didn't really care. The time seemed to blend together. When Harry wasn't practicing Legilimency he was writing or speaking to Neville. By his fourth year in Azkaban, Harry could send out seventeen probes of varying sizes to different targets.

* * *

Really, it was rather dreary. Without Dementors, Azkaban had become simply mundane rather than hellish. Neville and his friend Luna sent Harry loads of books, some about magic and others about the muggle world. Harry learned about politics, law, and every day activities in both worlds. Really, the only thing that kept Harry interested now was a newspaper that Luna always sent called 'The Quibbler'. It was filled with stories about creatures which hadn't been proven to exist, but the stories were written in a fun easy to read manner, and were probably more accurate that the Prophet anyways.

Harry had broken into the mind of every auror who patrolled Azkaban's mind. In fact, he had gotten into twelve of their minds at once.

Then, Harry had an idea. "Why don't I break into Voldemort's mind," he thought to himself.

So he tried to do so. He had discovered that through their connection, he could see through Voldemort's eyes. He did so and then cast a stealth probe about the thought "My Little Pony". Imagine his surprise when it led him down a path showing that Voldemort had in fact watched the animated show heard of the phenomenon that was one prisoner's biggest secret.

That is, for the three seconds before Harry's probe was violently thrown out of his head. A bit annoyed, Harry decided to throw sixteen of his probes at Voldemort. Ten of them were huge, they would take him some time to get rid of. The other six were as small as Harry could manage.

Only one of the small ones got through. Tom had started by destroying as many of the small ones as he could find, five. He'd turned his attention to the huge ones only because they were giving him an enormous headache. They were like battering rams hammering at his mental walls. If he had focused on finding all the probes rather than the annoying pain he felt, he would have easily found them all.

The first three probes were attached to random thought streams. Lunch, Dinner, and Breakfast. The other three were more important. The two Voldemort found were attached to the initial though stream funds and secrets. Harry's sixteenth probe had two minutes to follow the stream on the initial thought of immortality. Voldemort never caught it, so he never realized that his most precious secret had been taken from him.

What Harry had learned was rather interesting. He'd learned about magical constructs called horcruxes, in which one could store his soul. He hadn't been able to learn where Tom had hidden his though.

* * *

A mental war between Voldemort and Harry ensued. Voldemort could not use Legilimency on Harry over a distance because the connection was only one way. It was due to Tom having taken Harry's blood for his resurrection, Harry had learned. However, he was able to use his own probes as patrols within his own mind. If Harry's probes could take the form of soldiers the size of trolls or the size of mice and batter at Tom's walls, surely Tom could use probes in his own mind for the same purpose.

Over nine months, both improved their tactics and skills in the art of mental warfare. Because of the weekly battles, Harry learned to cast thirty two probes of a caliber high enough to break into any average Occlumencer's shields within minutes and Tom could cast twenty eight of what Harry called "Counter Probes".

On June 21st, Harry and Voldemort once again engaged in the typical mental warfare that they had been in for the last nine months. Generally, Harry would get one or two stealth probes past Tom's barriers, but often they would be some of his distractions. Fake stealth probes. They would search out information on trivial details like Tom's breakfast or dinner, which generally held no use to him.

Tom had become adept at recognizing which stealth probes were dupes and which were searching for important information.

This time Harry began his attack by sending thirty two stealth probes. Only three of them searched for important information. He purposely scattered their targets, for if Harry sent a group of stealth probes after important information they would be too close together in Tom's mindscape and he would pick them off easily.

Today, Harry was looking for information on any battles or raids the dark side might be planning.

Tom had become complacent. He would let dupe stealth probes finish the thought stream that they went along. After all, what could useless information like his memory of breakfast help anyone? He never realized that he'd planned a battle over breakfast that morning.

As soon as Harry's final dupe stealth probe pulled out of Tom's mind, he began drafting a letter to Neville. The two had come up with a rather clever method of communicating, using a miniature version of a vanishing cabinet that Neville's granduncle, Algernon Croaker, had created. To any normal onlooker, it was simply a dirty leather-bound journal from a misguided soul who believed in Harry's innocence. However, after Harry closed the journal, the page the words were written on would disappear from one book and appear, folded up inside a pocket in the other. The other journal would vibrate slightly for two minutes to alert the other person that a message had arrived.

This was how Harry had been passing information onto Neville for the past nine months. Information on the locations of one of Tom's horcruxes, information on a raid, information on who was a spy within the Order of the Phoenix. Apparently, Mudungus Fletcher was a dirty thief and a Death Eater. However, the piece of information he'd found today was much more valuable than any other.

An attack on Hogswart. Honestly. Now that Neville knew, they'd be more than prepared enough. Voldemort was expecting to encounter a few hundred scared children and their teachers. Instead he'd be met with a ferocious force. The Order of the Phoenix, now led by Neville, and the defenses of Hogwarts would decimate his attacking force.

As for taking down Tom, Harry and Neville had come up with a plan.

* * *

On July 7th, 2000, Harry's journal started vibrating to signal that the final battle was about to start. He used his magical connection with Voldemort to watch the battle. Tom planned to use his typical tactic.

First, he would let his Death Eaters loose on Hogwarts, killing children and destroying the ancient buildings. Second, he would offer an armistice, a period to recuperate. He would tell Neville that if Neville handed himself over, the others would be saved.

Neville and Harry knew all of this.

Tom had let the Death Eaters loose on the students, unaware that the students were Polyjuiced members of the Order. The Death Eaters were decimated, morale plunging as they lost to what seemed to be first and second year students. The giants on the Dark Side were taken out by house elves.

Really, people underestimate the little ones. Sure, they were small and subservient, but they knew magics that no one else in the world did. Only House Elves could apparate a Giant from a distance while it was outside of Hogwart's wards. Only they could get through the magical resistance as if it were nothing.

Centaurs fought for their territory against Acromantulas, as they had for fifty years since Aragog had escaped into the Forbidden Forest. Transformed veela hurled fireballs into the enemy camp and Filch used sniper rifles to send bullets through Death Eaters. Who knew his sadistic habits extended to learning to use guns? No wonder Dumbledore kept him around. His accuracy was stunning.

After fifteen minutes of the Dark Side being ambushed, devastated, and killed, Voldemort had enough. He had lost all his Giants, a third of his werewolves, forty Death eaters, most of the Acromantulas, and even one of the vampires who had joined his cause.

"Pure blood, half blood, mud blood. Who cares, it's all blood." His dying words would one day become famous. Twisted to fit the perspective of equality, but famous nonetheless.

Tom came thundering onto the battlefield, dodging curses, fire balls, and a bullet. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed. Filch fell from the Astronomy Tower, "Muggle toys have no place here! Battle me, Longbottom. Here. Now. To decide the fate of this war."

Everyone else on the battle field stopped fighting to watch Neville and Tom, as if were some TV show.

'Idiots. Take the opponents out while they watch!' Harry thought.

As soon as the fight began, Harry sent the largest thirty three probes he could into Voldemort's mind. Neville, who could cast twenty four probes, cast thirteen stealth probes and eleven distraction probes.

While this happened Neville and Voldemort dueled. A stupefy here, an avada kedavra there. Eventually, Neville got fed up and gave up on morals. He had the hate necessary, so he began casting unforgivable curses at Voldemort.

Despite the two of them teaming up, Voldemort's mental defenses were bolstered because he had returned the bit of soul in Nagini to himself. Harry's troll-sized 'battering rams' were crushed. He sent more after they were batted aside, but the same fate befell them. He needed more power. The torrents behind his dam began swirling around at the very thought. Harry would need to put a lot more emotion behind his probes for them to actually work.

Apple or dam – Harry didn't know which to choose. The apple had more potent emotion, but Harry knew he wouldn't have any semblance of control over it. The dam would give him some control, but probably not enough to stop some building damages to Azkaban.

Harry sighed to himself. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. With no other option, he plunged himself into the lake behind his dam. He took in every bit of anger he could, except his apples, and channeled it into his magic. Had the anger been directed at anyone other than Tom, Harry would have succumbed to his anger and destroyed all of Azkaban. However, because the anger was caused by Tom, Harry could direct it towards Tom.

Harry's probes became immensely larger. They grew from troll-sized Harrys to giant-sized ones. Fending off thirty three giants, eleven trolls, and thirteen stealth probes was outside of Tom's capacity when he only had two sevenths of his soul.

The giants pounded on Tom's wall and it was crushed under the force of Harry's emotion. Once inside his mind, Harry's giants ravaged everything there. Harry couldn't comprehend all the information dumped into his mind so he simply expelled it. He needn't bother. He'd learned enough from the mind of the Azkaban prisoners anyways.

Harry set his mind to destroying Tom's mindscape. He knew that doing so would probably drive Tom into a permanent coma, but couldn't be bothered to care. He was angry and Tom's mindscape only made him angrier. Honestly, Harry had enough problems with the Chamber of Secrets. Though he supposed calling Tom's mind a Chamber of Secrets would be an apt description.

Salazar's statue was torn to shreds. One of the giants lopped off the Basilisk's head. Even the ruins of the chamber were stomped on. Harry basked in the destruction and havoc he had caused, but he was still angry.

Harry began to pick at every painful memory in Tom's mind, to make Tom relive them. To make Tom cry. To make Tom scream. To make Tom hurt. To make Tom die. Harry was angry. He hadn't been angry for so long. It was exhilarating. Harry lost control of his anger. He destroyed every memory in Tom's mind.

Voldemort fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Neville cast one final Avada Kedavra. It was over.

* * *

A month later the raven-haired Boy-Who-Lived, condemned to years ago to hell on earth, lay in front of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the defeater of Lord Voldemort, Neville Longbottom. He was catatonic, twitching, and exactly the same as when he was put into Azkaban. Healthier, in fact.

Harry's actions the day of the final battle had totaled the prison. His magic, being as benevolent as it was, had created bubbles of protection around all the prisoners. But now the ministry was out of a prison, had one less dark lord, and had a saviour in a coma from the ridiculous amounts of magic he'd channeled.

The two could only hope he would come out of his coma so that they could tell him the good news. Two days earlier, Dolores Umbridge, one of Voldemort's secret Death Eaters, had been captured.

* * *

Now Harry lay naked in his garden, wondering if Neville would be able to get him out of Azkaban. He also considered what his friend's reactions to his innocence would be. Ron would sit in a stony silence. Hermione would sob. Ginny would go into depression. Hagrid would get drunk.

Imbeciles.

Harry plucked a shiny red apple off of a tree in the middle of the garden.

His innocent, vivid, green eyes were reflected in the gleaming apple. The memories of betrayal would return to him when he ate the morsel.

Since the dementors had left four years ago, Harry had been getting flashes of people screaming hurtful things at him. He had never seen the full memories of what had happened, though. Naturally he was curious.

Harry bit into the apple, savoring the juicy taste for a moment before he was plunged into the forbidden knowledge.

After being stormed by aurors and stunned in the park near 4 Privet Drive, Harry awoke in an interrogation room, confused. First he had been attacked by people he'd assumed were Death Eaters, then he'd learned he had been arrested for no apparent reason.

In front of him was Master Auror Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody.

"How did ya do it, boy? I've never heard of a spell to steal a soul. How far into the dark arts are you?

"What? I haven't done anything!"

"Don't try to fool me. The body count speaks for itself."

Harry's eyes glazed over as the memories began to re-enter his mind, but he continued to bite into the savory apple.

The day before his trial, while Harry was in ministry holding cells, Harry was visited by Amos Diggory and Molly Weasley. Both looked at him as if he were a disgusting creature, as Victor Frankenstein viewed his creation.

Molly gave him an in-person howler. "Harry James Potter!" she screamed, "How dare you destroy the souls of all those poor muggles! I used to consider you a son, but now you are dead to me! If by some miracle you get out of Azkaban, you will never be welcome at the Burrow!"

Banishment from the Burrow, a surrogate home where his surrogate family lived, destroyed Harry's morale.

In contrast to the shrill screams from Molly, Diggory walked into the cell and whispered in his ear, "I knew James and Lily. They would be ashamed of you. Muggles can't protect themselves from dark magic. Killing them makes you no better than Death Eaters. My only regret is not sending you to Azkaban before you killed Cedric."

How many others blamed Harry for the deaths of loved ones? Was the approaching war all Harry's fault? Would future generations hate him for not killing Voldemort in the graveyard?

Tears dripped down Harry's cheeks and fell onto the perfectly kept grass underneath him.

Despite the pain Harry took another bite. He needed this knowledge on the off chance he got out of Azkaban.

A few hours before his trial, a group aurors had led him into an interrogation room and beat him. His blood had splattered against a silver mirror on the wall. He was thrown against the flimsy table repeatedly.

Blood bounces on tiles, Harry had woozily thought. It doesn't stain the tiles easily. Blood stains the carpet. At least no blood had gotten on the carpet. It would have given the aurors another reason to beat him.

One of the Aurors called him the Dark Apprentice. As if he would ever be Voldemort's follower. Albus Dumbledore was more likely to join the dark than Harry was.

When his health was in jeopardy, they would force a blood replenishing potion, the vile tasting one, down his throat and cast simple healing spells like episkey to set his bones back to , a new batch of Aurors would come in. The rebellious Aurors would sit off to the side and watch. They called it stress relief.

The few Aurors that had the bits to stand against it had been stunned and obliviated. The other Aurors didn't want to lose their jobs.

Aurors considered themselves the upholders of justice. They kept criminals in Azkaban and helped citizens deal with the ones who got out. As if. Aurors were an ineffective police force at best. Sure, there were some who upheld the virtues in the Auror handbook, like Amelia Bones and that pink haired girl who'd raised hell about Harry's treatment until she was taken down by three stunners at once.

At worst, Aurors were just terrorists who worked for the ministry.

Until that day, Harry had looked up to Aurors. His father had been one. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Now, all he could ask was if his father was like that too. Harry would love to believe that his dad was just like Bones or Tonks, but it brought doubt into his mind.

Harry bit into the last part of the apple, the core. It was disgusting. He could understand why people generally didn't eat it. He was overwhelmed with memories of his trial.

Dumbledore had looked at him with a gaze filled with regret.

Hermione had been persuaded by Dumbledore that it was for the best that Harry be taken away. He did it right in front Harry's ministry holding cell. He called Harry a threat, a danger, and even a burden on society. Hermione worshiped authority figures, so she had to believe the all mighty Albus Sodding Dumbledore.

Ron, ever the faithful son, had gone along with his mum's proclamation that Harry was a traitor.

Molly was persuaded to abandon Harry by Dumbledore. Ron had persuaded Arthur.

"After fourteen years of abuse at the hands of those horrible muggle, is it any surprise that he killed them?" Ron had asked his father in front of the entire wizengamot in courtroom 10. Arthur's concession to Ron's question had been a deadly blow against Harry's defense. If someone as honest and fair as Arthur Weasley believed Harry guilty, many others would too.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy had gone along with their parents as well.

Funny how it all led back to Dumbledore. Some would say he was the puppeteer behind it all. He wasn't.

Dumbledore acted in a manner he thought was for the best. Voldemort was the puppeteer. Dumbledore was too naive. One would think that after two wars and years of experience in politics, he would be able to see through conspiracies to get rid of opposition.

He couldn't.

Harry's cheeks were stained with tears. He knew he could've stopped eating the apple, but he had hid from these events for far too long. He felt compelled to know what had happened to him.

The Wizengamot sat upon the dais in a semicircle, watching as if he were entertainment. His so-called friends sat on mahogany chairs in the witness area of courtroom 10. They watched with disdain as Harry, chained to a chair that was falling apart to show prisoners their place and had moss where a cushion should be, sobbed about his innocence.

Of course, Minister Fudge would hear nothing of it. "Why would Dementors go to Surrey?" he asked.

Albus Dumbledore would not help Harry. He didn't believe the charge, but was convinced that Harry was going dark because of his connection to Voldemort. Dumbledore perceived the Boy-Who-Lived as the next Dark Lord. So much for the choices one makes.

The truly crippling blow, however, had been the testimonies of Harry's supposed friends.

Hermione had testified first. "Harry's always dragging others into dangerous situations and disregarding the rules. In his first year he went into the third floor corridor, even though the headmaster told us not to. In our second year he coerced me into helping him brew Polyjuice potion so he could break into the Slytherin Common room. I was shocked by his dark actions over this summer, but I should have seen the signs."

Hermione's testimony had left Harry despairing. If one of the Golden Trio, as wizards had taken to calling them, was willing to believe Harry had killed the residents of Privet Drive, then what were the chances that the members of the Wizengamot who he didn't know would?

Ron's testimony had been even worse, particularly because it had been partially true.

"Three years ago, when my brothers and I drove a flying Ford Anglia to Harry's house in Surrey, he was locked into his room and nearly starved to death. I told my parents and Professor Dumbledore, but they put it off as the exaggerations of a twelve year old. I could tell that Harry was treated badly by his relatives and wouldn't be surprised if this summer, after seeing the death of Cedric, Harry snapped and killed those muggles."

Ron was right to an extent: Harry was angry. He did wanted revenge. Harry didn't want revenge against the Dursleys, though. He wanted revenge against Voldemort for killing his parents.

His best friends having testified against him, Harry's chances of avoiding Azkaban dropped to nearly zero.

Harry couldn't eat the final part of this apple, the details of the trial. He had seen flashes, what people had said. He couldn't tell the details though. How were the watchers looking at him? The disgust on Ron's face as Harry was dragged, crying, out of the room. He couldn't remember some conversation he'd had with Hermione after the trial. He didn't want to. Harry dropped the last bit of the core on the ground.

Once Dudley and his gang had been mocking Harry about his loose clothes, so in a bout of accidental magic he'd vanished them. It was rather traumatizing. As his memories returned to him, Harry experienced a similar feeling. First, he was indignant. 'How could anyone be so callous to a friend?' he thought. Then, he became embarrassed when he realized the person that they had been callous towards was him. Lastly, he got angry. No one had tried to help him. No one had thought, "Harry wouldn't kill innocent muggles." Well, many had, but they hadn't voiced their beliefs during his trial. This was the world that he had once been expected to save? This was the world he had helped Neville save? They didn't deserve it.

Most would expect Harry to be angrier. Chances were, he would have been. If not for his Occlumency, Harry's magic would have destroyed the area around him.

His gaze wandered to the second apple on the tree. It was an alluring green apple the color of Harry's eyes. This apple contained the emotions that Harry felt for those who had betrayed him, before and after his incarceration. Water dripped from it, condensations of emotions that leaked through Harry's Occlumency barriers. Having regained his full memories, Harry couldn't suppress all the rage he felt – hence the water. If he ate the second apple, all the emotions he felt for his friends would return: love for the people who had accepted him, hatred for the traitors, and a yearning to forgive them.

Harry stared at the apple with keen interest. This was the forbidden fruit. Once he ate this, the bliss from hiding in his mindscape would disappear. Sure, Harry wasn't truly blissful. Ten years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys had seen to that. He flinched at human contact. He believed no one could truly care for him. A small measure of emotion had leaked into him when he ate the first apple, but this apple had a much larger amount. Leaving the apple alone, he'd be able to control his rage. But if he ate this apple, the rage would control him. He would stop at nothing to make them suffer as he had suffered.

"Serves them right," whispered a voice in the back of Harry's head. Perhaps it would serve them right. "Yes, the apple will give you the revenge you so rightly deserve." Harry gazed at the apple with desire on his face. He deserved revenge. They deserved punishment. It was right that after all the pain he'd been through, that they feel equal pain.

A second voice warned Harry in a voice reminiscent of Albus too many bloody names Dumbledore that revenge was a dark path. Harry ought to forgive his friends.

A third and least prominent voice mused, "Is it any wonder that they called Harry crazy after his fourth year? Honestly, hearing voices in his head! It must be Albus's and Tom's influences." After five years of confinement in Azkaban, Harry was a bit unhinged. Oh well, said the third voice. The best planners tend to be insane anyways. As the best planners often do, Harry struck inspiration.

Coming out of his musings, Harry set the apple down. He wouldn't need it. They'd gazed at him with hatred, but Harry needn't stoop to that level. Often, the worst punishment isn't anger, it is indifference.

Some say that forgiveness is the only path to serenity. That to be calm, one must forgive the wrongs done to them. They give second chances to the worst sort to achieve an eventual peace in society, the "greater good". Perhaps they are correct. Perhaps, forgiving the worst sort would serve some "greater good." Alas, Harry Potter didn't care one bit for the "greater good". Harry Potter only cared for his own good.

He would face his friends with neutrality. He would look at them with a smile on his face and tell them that they were meaningless. That they held no value to him. To hate is to acknowledge, and Harry wouldn't give them that privilege. He was apathetic.

* * *

**Prologue part 2:** Reactions

**The Boy-Who-Lived Innocent!**

_By Rita Skeeter_

Yesterday night, Dolores Umbridge, a Death Eater, was apprehended and questioned under Veritaserum.

When asked "What crimes have you done in the service of You-Know-Who?", Umbridge admitted to murdering several muggleborns and stated, "I set dementors loose on Privet Drive to get the filthy half-blood Potter sent to Azkaban, and rigged his trial to ensure he was sentenced for life."

That's right. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, first defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named, was framed. However, even from the depths of Azkaban Prison, he was able to aid Neville Longbottom.

Longbottom admitted, after learning that Potter is innocent, "During the battle, I used Legilimency on [You Know Who] (he used the name) and found another in his head distracting him throughout the battle, making it easy for me to break his Occlumency barriers. He was a better Legilimens than I am. During the battle, [You Know Who] was hampered by this other force, who I'm sure was Harry. I believe Harry used his connection with [You-Know-Who] during the battle to stop him from killing me."

There you have it. Not only was Harry Potter condemned to hell on earth, but even from there he was able to help bring down the greatest Dark Lord of the century. Harry Potter, one of the defeaters of Voldemort, is a hero.

Of course, it was the Ministry of Magic that allowed this. Can we trust our ministry not to imprison another of our heroes? Sirius Black was in Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he didn't commit. Harry Potter was in for five years because of a politician with an agenda against him. Who's next? We have been told that the ministry has been swept clear of corruption, but weren't we told the same thing at the end of the last war? Malfoy. Nott. Goyle. All Death Eaters who bribed their ways out of Azkaban after the last war. All Death Eaters whose children weren't put in jail for their actions this war. Are we truly safe?

**Azkaban Destroyed!**

_By Xenophilius Lovegood_

On the same day of the Battle of Hogwarts, Azkaban was destroyed. Somehow, a magical surge so strong that it leveled the ancient fortress was released!

Luna Lovegood, one of the first to arrive on scene states, "It was nargles, I'm sure of it. Nargles took control of Harry Potter and channeled magic he had the Crumple Horned Snorkack steal from the dam." Perhaps she is correct. After all, the nargles have had it out for Azkaban since 1965 when two hundred of their numbers were imprisoned there by Heliopaths.

Is this just a magical phenomenon or is there more nefarious meanings behind it?

* * *

Two days ago Dolores Umbridge had confessed under Veritaserum to ordering dementors to kiss every inhabitant of Privet Drive except for Harry Potter. Now, Hermione Weasley, with tears streaking her face and a haggard appearance, cried to her husband that they should have known that Potter couldn't have used Dark Arts.

"We were his best friends!" She wailed. Her husband hadn't spoken since he read the prophet. His face was void of any emotions. His eyes echoed an emptiness found only in those on the worst of battlefields. Ron Weasley's spirit was crushed. The pair eventually fell asleep, their faces stained with tears.

* * *

In the Burrow, Molly Weasley sat at the kitchen table and shrieked incoherently about how she'd failed her child. In another room, Ginny Longbottom silently shed tears for the condemnation of the person who had saved her from Tom in her first year. He'd fought a basilisk to save her and all she could do was stand by as he was sent to Azkaban. She may not have agreed with his incarceration, but she'd condoned it through her inaction.

* * *

Luna Lovegood, an unspeakable, sat in the Death Chamber at the Department of Mysteries adorned in radish earrings and bottle cap necklaces (to keep away nargles) while she watched the veil in morbid fascination. She heard a faint, "I told you so," in the voice of Sirius Black, who had gone through the same veil four years ago. Perhaps the Crumple-Horned Snorkack could imitate voices in places where those people died.

* * *

A tall, muscular, black man stood at a podium surrounded by thirty reporters from many different countries. The group was in the ministry atrium, a large, circular room with marble tiles along the floor and walls and a dome-like top, for a press conference. Behind the minister was a statue of Neville Longbottom defeating Voldemort while Harry Potter laid in prison pressing his fingers to his head trying to get through the Dark Lord's mental shields. Truly, the speed that things could be done because of magic was spectacular.

"Five years ago the Ministry of Magic did a great misdeed against Harry James Potter." Shacklebolt began, his face the perfect mask of void emotion. "Today, we correct this misdeed. In compensation for his troubles, Harry Potter will be given 10,000 galleons and will be exonerated of the crimes that he was accused of." His mask cracked a bit, his face showing a glint of determination, "Furthermore, he will be awarded the Order of Merlin, first class and the right to ask three things, within reason, of the Magical Community worldwide, as has been agreed upon by the International Confederation of Wizards." Now, a look of cheer was evident on his face. Either he was genuinely happy for Harry or he was an amazing actor,

"What about his health?" asked one reporter.

"Mr. Potter's health is much further along than we had hoped for at this point." responded a healer next to Shacklebolt.

"That is classified!" rebuked Susan Bones, the recently appointed head of the DMLE.

"Has Mr. Potter awoken yet?" a particularly loud reported shouted over the sound of cameras flashing, questions being asked, and shrill red heads following procedures. He received no answer as the press conference moved on.

* * *

**Prologue Part 3:** Confrontations and Requests

When Harry awoke, he wasn't naked. There was no indignation, no embarrassment, no anger. Even his arse was covered by the hospital clothes that he'd been given. A courtesy, he'd heard, not given in muggle hospitals. His emotions, like his body, were clothed with another kind of mask. His apple.

Harry had awoken in a white room with an IV stuck into his arm. Apparently healers weren't above muggle methods. So much for superiority. He could see into the rest of the hospital through a window. The room was filled with exquisite gold and red furniture. Whoever funded this ward was a Gryffindor to the core. Eventually, Harry spied a plaque that read "James and Lily Potter Ward."

How ironic.

When Harry looked through the window into the hospital waiting room he saw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Kingsley Shacklebolt whispering to each other. Harry assumed it was about his condition.

They were different from when Harry had last seen them. Hermione had tamed her bushy hair and grown a few inches. Her once soft features were more muscled now, probably because of the war. She had filled out quite a bit and if Harry didn't feel resentful towards her, he may have been attracted to her. Ron had grown taller and also gained quite a bit of muscle. Before Harry had gone to prison, he would have described Ron as lanky, but now he was stocky.

Neville had lost all of his excess fat and had a body quite like Harry's to show for it. He was wiry, with long brown hair and a rugged face. However, it was his demeanor that reflected the greatest change. No longer was Neville the innocent first year who had tried to stop his friends from going on a dangerous adventure. No longer was he the excited boy who had plotted Voldemort's downfall with Harry. His every movement had a certain emptiness about it, an emptiness that he'd only ever seen in one other person. Himself. Neville to had lost much in this war.

At the slight movement of Harry turning his head to look out the room window, Shacklebolt noticed that Harry had awoken. "An auror no doubt," Harry muttered as the four walked from the lounge they sat in to Harry's hospital bed. "Perhaps he'll be insane like good old Mad-Eye. Oh wait, that was a Crouch. Perhaps this is a Death Eater too."

"Granger. Weasley. Neville. Shacklebolt," He stated, in acknowledgment of each person's presence.

"How did you know my name?" Shacklebolt asked in a deep voice.

Of course, Harry knew that it was Legilimency, but he'd rather not get thrown back into Azkaban for a mental assault on the Minister for Magic. "I'm not quite sure." To distract the man from inquiring further Harry aired a concern of his own. "You're nothing like Fudge, are you?"

"No, no. I promise I'm not." Shacklebolt answered with a smirk on his face.

"Good," Harry said. "I've had enough corrupt, pompous windbags for a lifetime. What happened to him anyway?"

"He was sent away in shame after Voldemort revealed himself," Hermione answered. It was her lecture voice, the same one she'd used to tell Harry, "Killing those muggles was wrong! They were defenseless against your magic."

Harry simply acted as if she wasn't there and continued to gaze at the minister.

"Well," Shacklebolt said after an awkward silence, "I'm here to inform you of your compensation for the wrongful imprisonment you went through." That amused Harry. The ministry was trying to cover its arse after putting one of their saviors in hell on earth. It should be entertaining.

"The Ministry of Magic has decided to give you 10,000 galleons as compensation for your five year stay in Azkaban." This just angered Harry. Five years of his life in exchange for 10,000 galleons was not a fair trade.

"This includes a compensation for the 1500 Galleons that you lost over three years of schooling at Hogwarts and five years of an auror's salary. Furthermore, it is my privilege to inform you that the International Confederation of Wizards has decided to grant you three requests within reason."

'Oh! Like a genie!' Harry though sardonically, wondering how they're going to screw up his requests.

Shacklebolt ticked off the wishes on his fingers. "One for your first defeat of Voldemort, one for your wrongful imprisonment, and one for your help in the second defeat of Voldemort." He spoke in a tone that indicated he didn't find talking to the exonerated wizard about his incarceration a pleasure at all.

Harry flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minister. I'd suggest leaving soon. No doubt some people will be leaving this room crying and I'd rather you not be one of them."

At this statement, Hermione and Ron gulped and Kingsley left in a hurry.

"Nev, you're the only one in this room I can deal with politely, so you can go next." Harry yawned, bored with the business he had to deal with immediately after waking. The others grimaced while Neville just quirked up his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Welcome back, Harry," the no longer chubby and self-depreciating boy told Harry earnestly, "I just wanted to thank you for your help bringing down Voldemort."

Harry gave him a toothy smile and exclaimed, "I couldn't leave you to fight the dark wanker on your own, now could I! I'm the Boy Who Can't Die! Azkaban can't stop my revenge!"

"Harry, how exactly did you take down Azkaban? The ministry is putting off as a magical accident, but I don't believe that for a second."

"I needed more emotion behind my magic if I wanted to overpower Voldemort, so I used all the anger I had from when I was five to when I was thirteen. I couldn't control it very well. Azkaban was the collateral."

Neville smiled and asked, "What was his last though? I left his mind before that." in a conspiratorial tone.

Harry grinned and told Neville, "Word for word, I believe it was, 'Did I have to die a virgin?'"

Neville snorted, said, "Now that's headline material!" and left. He knew Harry needed privacy to talk to Ron and Hermione.

"Harry..." the two other occupants began at the same time. They stopped looking at each other to determine who would go first. Eventually Weasley manned up, comforted by Harry's kindness to Longbottom and Shacklebolt. "I'd like to apologize for what I did, too. Is there any chance we can be mates again?"

"Now now, Weasley. You wouldn't want to be mates with me. I'm much too angry." After that, he changed his facial expression into the same stony expression that had been on Ron's face all those years.

Ron blushed as red as his hair and ignored the last part, "I guess I was sort of wrong at your trial. Are you mad?"

"Honestly, Ronald, of course he's angry." Hermione stated, disapprovingly.

"Weasley, Granger, I will tell you this out of respect for the friendship we once had. For the first year in Azkaban, I was fueled by rage at those who imprisoned me. Then I realized that I couldn't hold onto that rage because once I got out, I wouldn't be able to keep it up forever and would eventually forgive you. So I'm not angry. I just don't care at all about either of you, your families, or the magical world."

"Harry, that's not healthy. Humans are meant to socialize! You can't just shun us all!" Hermione shouted. Honestly, she didn't know when she wasn't wanted. Perhaps Ron had been right on that Halloween in first year.

"Go bugger a house elf!" Harry drawled in a completely serious tone. Then his eyes widened, "I should have seen the signs! First, you stand up for their rights, then you name you pro-house elf organization SPEW of all things. Who was it? Dobby? Winky? The bookworms are always the kinky ones!" Hermione bristled, and turned to stalk out of the room in a huff. Of course, as the bossy person she is, Hermione dragged Ron out of the room with her.

'Good, I probably would have killed his self-esteem. Actually, I wish I had been allowed to.' Harry thought to himself.

* * *

The healers were in a tizzy about how Harry hadn't aged at all. Eventually, after examining his blood, the healers gave up on understanding what was wrong with him and simply asked.

Harry thought of telling them, "Well, the combination of elixir of life, basilisk venom, and phoenix tears in my blood seem to be able to stop me from aging in times of high stress and make it so that I will stay healthy in even the worst conditions. No wonder I didn't die that one summer the Durselys decided to only feed me three times a week." But that would no doubt send them off in a craze to potions masters with theories that elixir of life, phoenix tears, and basilisk venom could be combined to create an immortality potion.

Good luck getting those ingredients.

Regardless, they were keeping him in the hospital because of "standard protocol", even though he was perfectly healthy, so why should he tell them anything?

* * *

As soon as he was released from St. Mungos, Harry was forced to travel.

"This meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards shall now commence," announced one of the members of the confederation.

Harry sat patiently, filtering out all the boring politicking and musing about the going ons around him. It seemed that even though Neville had been the one to take out Voldemort for the final time, Harry was being given half the credit. Of course, he was the precious Boy-Who-Lived. They would apologize, give him a paltry sum, and parade him around until they needed a new scapegoat.

Harry wasn't going to let that happen. He was going to make some people rather angry today.

After two hours of debate on meaningless topics Harry was given the floor to make his demands.

"Dear members of this honorable body and such, your protocols suck," Harry began, viewing in amusement as many of the members bristled at the insult. One, the US representative Stephen Strange, snorted. "Therefore, I'm going to keep this short. My first request is a restraining order against every citizen of Magical Britain except the Longbottoms and Luna Lovegood that only I can void."

Normally a restraining order wouldn't be all that bad, but a magical restraining order would put everyone in the country at risk of losing their magic if they tried to look for him. Thankfully, this was the International Council and as such Britain only had one vote.

"I object!" exclaimed Amos Diggory, the British representative. "Mr. Potter is a national treasure of the British Ministry of Magic!"

Harry's eyebrow quirked up. He'd expected some argument, but to treat him as an object? Surely they couldn't be that stupid.

"What am I," Harry began, his expression now serious, "a weapon? A weapon to be locked away when it isn't needed and paraded around once in a while to intimidate others? I knew your son Mr. Diggory. He would be ashamed of you." Harry whispered, but his voice echoed throughout the chamber through the silence that resulted from sheer shock over the venom in Harry's voice.

Diggory took his seat with no more protest. That request was allowed with little argument after that, on the condition that Harry would not be allowed to return to any densely populated area in Magical Britain such as Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, or the Ministry of Magic once the order was in place.

Harry agreed to their condition and moved on. "My second request is an exemption from the Statue of Secrecy."

This one had most of the room screaming. Of course, most of them didn't believe he would actually leave the magical world, so it didn't matter that he'd have an exemption.

"How long could he deal with those filthy muggles anyway?" Viktor Krum Sr., the Quidditch player's father and Bulgarian representative, had asked.

Really, the only comment that had interested Harry had come from Stephen Strange. "I've been passing off as a superhero for years. He could probably say he's a mutant and they'd believe him. Sorcerer Supreme! Please, if there was anyone who deserved that title, it was probably Voldemort!"

That intrigued Harry. In his scans of those in Azkaban's minds, he'd learned a bit about muggle politics and heard of these so-called mutants. Perhaps he would take Strange's advice to heart. If the American ministry already had one wizard in public, Harry was sure they could deal with a second.

"My last request is to have a false identity set up and back-dated fifteen years so it won't seem like I have appeared out of nowhere. I'd like to disappear into the muggle world and can't do that without such an identity."

Harry heard a lot of snorts and received many questioning gazes at this demand. Honestly, it was almost as if Strange was the only one here who didn't look down on muggles. Harry could only hope the rest of the US was the same. He was now sure that was where he would go. He'd heard of a town called New Salem in New York. Perhaps he could see the site of the famous witch burnings.

This request was passed unanimously. Most of the representatives believed they had gotten off easy. He could have asked for far worse. Only the few that realized that they were letting a man who had destroyed a nigh on impenetrable prison were worried about what they were letting loose on the muggles.

* * *

When Harry got out of the ICW meeting in Geneva, he travelled straight to Gringotts, strutting up to the first goblin teller he saw and declaring, "Harry Potter would like to speak with his accounts manager," in the haughtiest voice possible. It was truly a remarkable Draco Malfoy imitation. Harry figured that Azkaban gave him the right to act like an arse. Sirius would have done it. Hell, he probably had.

From there he was led to a goblin named Silvertooth.

"Hello, Silvertooth," Harry greeted in Latin, a language he'd learned in order to make learning spells easier. Now he spoke it just to annoy Goblins, who had a notoriously hard time speaking it. "I would like to see a list of all my assets."

After a minute of poking through his desk, Silverhook handed two files to Harry. One had the Potter emblem on it and the other had the Black emblem on it.

Harry opened the Potter file first, flipping through pages of dense account information until he found a page labeled "Liquid Cash and Investments." He found that the Potter family had approximately 115,000 galleons in the vault, owned 12% of the Daily Prophet, 33% of Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes, 17% of Flourish and Blotts, and 6% of the Leaky Cauldron.

Next he opened the Black file, found the same page, and read that the black family had 75,000 galleons, owned 32% of Borgin and Burkes, 3% of Gringotts, and 12% of the Three Broomsticks. The final investment was no doubt the work of Sirius.

"How much money is the liquid cash in pounds?" Harry drawled, eyebrows scrunched together in thought. Try as he might, he was unable to do the calculation in his head.

Silvertooth leaned over to look at the two figures. "Approximately 9,500,000 pounds," he responded with a cordial expression – at least, for a wrinkled goblin.

"Liquidate all the investments except the one in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and transfer every coin into a muggle American banking account. How much is the liquid in dollars?" Harry asked flippantly, his eyes shut as he thought of the implications of his wealth. A child, no older than fifteen, as far as the authorities could see, arriving with over ten million dollars. Surely, that would arouse some suspicion.

The goblins eyebrows shot up, but he eventually bit out, "Are you sure it would be wise to do that?"

"Wise, no. But it's my money and I will choose what to do with it." Harry spat, his voice filled with venom few would think possible from the "Gryffindor Golden Boy."

"I don't think you understand the effect that this would have on the magical economy of Great Britain," the Goblin asserted in a slightly loud tone. His facial expression... could not be expressed in human terms. He looked like an angry goblin though.

"Nor do I care! Does the bank presume to tell me what to do with MY money?" Harry shouted, momentarily giving into the anger leaking off his apple. Instantly, his excess magic surrounded him in a fearsome aura, a phenomenon only the top 10% of wizards are able to achieve.

The goblin bristled. "Managing the wizard's economy is our job."

Harry's eyes glowed with anger as he stated, "As J.R.R. Tolkien stated in his story Lord of the Rings, 'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.'" Then he slammed his fist against the desk and, by releasing some of the emotion from the forbidden fruit, controlled a bout of accidental magic that sent out a shock wave throughout the office, knocking over every stack of galleons, sickles, and knuts surrounding them, and sufficiently cowing Silvertooth.

'Calm down,' Harry thought, 'Hide the emotion. Apathy. Don't care.' Slowly, Harry's aura faded and his countenance returned from anger to indifference.

"Now, tell me. How much is the liquid in dollars?"

"13.5 m-million dollars s-sir." The goblin stuttered.

When asked how much the goblins would be able to sell the stock for in dollars, Harry was told, "Nearly 20 million dollars."

All in all, it was a tidy sum.

* * *

Harry stormed out of Gringotts, through Diagon Alley. The crowd split apart for him, some out of fear of someone emitting so much magic and others out of respect for the Boy-Who-Lived and co-Defeater of Voldemort.

Slamming a door open, he continued his march into Olivander.

"I need a new wand old man. Spare me the theatrics." Harry stated firmly.

Olivander looked at Harry with a toothy grin on his face, "Very well, Mr. Potter. As I recall, you were one of my hardest customers."

For the next half hour, Harry cycled through wand after wand. Now that he had more control over his magic, he didn't destroy the shop. Finally, he settled on one. Ten and a half inches of ghost gum wood with a werewolf hair within it. Remus' hair to be specific.

How apt. After an incident involving Azkaban, Remus had left his pack and become a lone wolf. The werewolf represented an inner struggle with a powerful force, quite like Harry's apple. Harry planned to disappear, like a ghost. Harry sheathed the pure white wand into a holster he had bought and stormed out of the Alley, presumably to all but him to return.

* * *

Some say that forgiveness is the only path to serenity. That to be calm, one must forgive the trespasses done to them. These people give second chances to even the worst sort to achieve an eventual peace in society. They forgive demons and condemn innocents to hell. Such was the fate of Harry James Potter.

But Harry Potter is nothing if not a rebel.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Some of you might say that I overpowered Harry's Legilimency, but if you compare him to Marvel characters, I really didn't. Xavier's telepathy is stronger. The Phoenix Force would laugh at him. Apocalypse would sit on him. Galactus would eat him... and the rest of the earth...

I know Strange isn't really a wizard, but this is an AU.


End file.
